‘That’s what showers were designed for.’
‘Pleeeease.’
Frankie sighed. Oh, how she wanted to help Cassa pursue her dreams. What could be more satisfying? She knew what it was like to have a dream. But what about the risks? What if the judges voted her off? Her confidence would come crashing down and it would be Frankie’s fault. What would Mrs Preston say if she found out? Frankie would surely be fired from Girl Guides—in much the same way Vanessa had been banned—for being a bad influence. Was helping a young talent follow their ambitions such a crime though?
‘You’re not putting me in an easy position, Cassa,’ she said at last.
‘Just one more time. That’s all I’m asking. I have a song ready. I’ve been practising it ever since they put me through.’
Curiosity got the better of Frankie.
‘What’s the song?’
‘At Last by Etta James.’
Frankie’s heart ached. She loved that song and with Cassa’s husky tones, she would love to hear her sing it. She wavered.
‘Just this once, okay? Even if they put you through to whatever round is next, it’s the last time. It’s too risky, Cassa. Your mum would kill us both if she found out.’
Cassa jigged up and down on the spot and crossed her heart.
‘Promise,’ she grinned.
Frankie shook her head and nodded to her car, standing covered in silvery frost in the car park.
‘Come on, then. But if you become a big star because of this and end up making millions, I expect a cut of the profits, okay?’
*
Frankie’s heart dropped with dread as she pulled up outside the Golden Miller. Through the windows she could see the pub was packed to the rafters. She hoped the Prestons were still new enough to Helensvale not to have made too many friends. If word got back to Cassa’s mother—well, Frankie daren’t think of the consequences.
‘You sure you’re ready for this?’ she asked Cassa, pausing outside the door.
Cassa looked less sure of herself now that she’d seen the crowd. Nevertheless, she nodded.
‘Okay then. Here goes.’
They stepped inside the warmth of the pub just as a cheer went up for the contestant walking onto stage. Frankie shouldered a path to the bar with Cassa close on her heels. Tom was in his usual spot in the corner but it was seeing Rhys, standing further along nursing his customary orange juice that made her heart skip a beat.
Joey gave a cheer and left his bar duties to greet them.
‘Thank God you’re here. I thought you weren’t going to make it.’ He winked at Cassa. ‘All set to knock ’em dead?’
Cassa gave a hesitant nod. Joey clapped his hands together.
‘Great. I’ll let them know you’re here.’
Not letting go of Cassa’s hand—she wasn’t sure if it was for her own reassurance or for the girl’s—Frankie edged her way along the bar.
‘Hello, Rhys,’ she said.
Rhys’s expression broke into a smile.
‘Hey, Frankie. You all right?’ He spotted Cassa hovering beside her and his eyebrows lifted in question. ‘Who’s your friend?’
Frankie shook her head at his devilish smile. He knew full well Cassa was her fraudulent Girl Guide.
‘Cassa, I’d like you to meet Rhys, my—’ The words choked in her throat. What exactly was Rhys to her? Boyfriend? Or was it too soon to assume that? Lover? Or was that too much information for a thirteen-year-old? Friend? Or would such a casual reference offend Rhys?
‘Rival,’ Rhys said. He put out his hand to shake Cassa’s. ‘Frankie and I are both jockeys.’
‘Hi,’ Cassa said, hiding her chin shyly in her shoulder and taking his outstretched hand.
Although relieved Rhys had helped her out of a potentially awkward moment, nonetheless, her spirits sunk a couple of degrees. Her nerves were already wound tight and it would have made her feel so much better if he’d said ‘boyfriend’ or shown some form of affection towards her.
Never mind, she told herself. There was plenty of time for that to change. It had only been three days since the Christmas party, after all. And not so long ago, Rhys would have sneered at her presence. This was progress, she reminded herself.
She looked across at Tom and their eyes met. He looked glum. What was he thinking? She thought of the letter she’d posted with a silent prayer earlier. Was that it? Knowing that by tomorrow, Adelaide Mann of Bethnal Green, London, would more than likely have read his letter? And now with Joey busy serving customers, he had no one to distract him from his thoughts.
‘I’m just going to go see Tom,’ she said.
Rhys looked accommodating.
‘Let’s all go over. Looks like he’s got more room where he’s at.’
*
Tom mustered up a smile at Frankie’s approach. A wry twist was added to it when he noticed Rhys in tow.
‘So it’s true,’ he said, loud enough for only Frankie to hear.
‘Shush, Tom,’ she hissed.
When she’d told him last night that she was seeing Rhys on a more personal level, he hadn’t believed her at first. Once she’d convinced him, he’d then started asking why and how come. Frankie hadn’t been quite so convincing after that, since she herself wasn’t so sure. Every objection Tom raised had been valid. Why was Rhys seeing her when he’d so obviously resented her taking his ride in the National? Frankie’s argument that a lot of water had flown under the bridge since then (this December was making a bid for the wettest on record) hadn’t entirely removed Tom’s doubts. She would ask Rhys…eventually. Right now though, she was quite happy to carry on in blissful ignorance.
‘All right, Rhys?’ Tom said.
Rhys nodded.
‘All right, Tom.’
‘Hello, you,’ Tom said to Cassa. ‘I remember you from the last round.’
Cassa beamed at her newfound fame.
‘How’s it been going tonight?’ Frankie asked.
‘Competition’s a bit tougher than it was before.’ Seeing Cassa’s smile fade he added, ‘But nothing like the standard you set. You could sing Old MacDonald and still beat the rest.’
Confidence restored, Cassa moved a little out of Frankie’s shadow.
*
Cassa was applauded on to the Golden Miller’s rigged up stage. The noise made it seem as if there were twice as many people in the building. Frankie’s knees were weak and her heart was hammering. She prayed Cassa was coping better than she was. The introduction to At Last sliced through the clapping and another small cheer went up from those who recognised the classic blues track. Cassa looked so alone on stage, Frankie wanted to push her way through the crowds and sing it with her. On the other hand, she also wanted her to be a success and that would never happen if they were to duet.
She watched Cassa take a deep breath and raise the microphone to her lips. So far removed from the Girl Guide who had been crafting Indian elephant mobiles out of plastic milk cartons just a couple of hours before, Cassa’s low sultry voice now rolled through the pub. Another cheer went up and distracted, her voice wobbled. She looked over at Frankie, her eyes filled with panic.
Frankie nodded, urging her on.
‘You can do it,’ she whispered.
Whether Cassa could lip-read or not, the message must have got through.
A smile reappeared on her face as she hit note after note. She even had the courage to remove one of her hands from the mic to gesture with the song’s lyrics.
Frankie felt a warm arm slide around her waist. She smiled to herself and pressed her hand over Rhys’s, holding it close. She saw Tom out of the corner of her eye pause as he lifted his glass and frown at the gesture. Frankie was on a cloud too high to care though.
Cassa finished the song, almost sinking to her knees as she belted out the last line. The Golden Miller erupted into cheers. There was no doubt in their minds that Cassa was through to the semi-finals. Frankie’s resolution swayed again. Maybe they could risk another
round.
Chapter 28
Later that evening, Frankie lay wrapped up in Rhys’s duvet, tired but one hundred per cent sated. Rhys lay beside her with his arms crossed behind his head. She traced her finger along the firm contours of muscle, silvery in the moonlight, which ran from his arms to his chest. He was lean, naturally, but not as skinny as other jockeys she knew from the weighing room. He looked like an Arabian thoroughbred, slender, athletic and beautiful. Again, she wondered why he had chosen to be with her of all people when he could have had his pick of his female fans.
She chewed her lip as she remembered her conversation with Tom. His disbelief was unsettling to say the least. She sighed inadvertently.
‘You okay?’ he asked.
‘I was just thinking.’
Rhys lifted himself up onto one elbow to look at her properly.
‘What about?’
A curl of hair hung out of place over his forehead. A small smile broke her frown. She realised that, if she wanted, she could stroke it out of the way. She could touch him, kiss him, and chances were good he wouldn’t have her done for sexual harassment. But the question still remained though: why?
She opened her mouth to ask, but bit her lips closed again. She didn’t have the courage to ask him. What if he said something she didn’t want to hear? What if this was just a fling to him? While her heart felt like a contestant in a cheese rolling competition, tumbling deeper and deeper towards—well, something. She was wary of calling it love. Love surely didn’t happen this quickly, but whatever it was, it was strong and completely addictive.
‘Nothing important,’ she said, shaking her head.
Rhys frowned at her. With a tender hand, he reached out and threaded her hair behind her ear.
‘Tell me then.’
Frankie couldn’t look him in the eye and say it. She gazed up at the ceiling.
‘What are we doing, Rhys?’ she said, finally brazen enough. She swallowed and closed her eyes, waiting for him to put a stake through her heart.
‘What do you mean?’ His question was guarded and Frankie forced herself to open her eyes and look at him. He’d stopped stroking her hair.
‘I mean what does “we” mean to you?’
Rhys hesitated.
‘That’s a pretty weighted question so early on, don’t you think?’
Frankie grimaced.
‘I know, but I have to know. I’m sorry. It’s just that—well, like I said before, I’m not in the habit of starting things off by sleeping with someone and then getting to know them. Usually, it’s the other way round.’
Rhys was silent for a long moment. Even though he was barely touching her, she could feel his body had tensed.
‘Are you regretting what happened?’ he said.
‘What? No, no. Not at all. I’m just a little unsure of where things are going.’
‘Maybe we should just live in the moment and enjoy it, instead of looking ahead.’ Rhys ran a curved finger down her cheek. ‘I’m not going anywhere soon.’
Frankie managed a weak smile and Rhys brushed his finger along her lips, tickling her.
‘Why?’
Rhys tilted his head back a little and frowned at her.
‘Why what?’
Frankie gave a mirthless chuckle.
‘Why me, I guess is what I’m trying to say.’
‘Strange,’ Rhys mused. ‘You never struck me as being the insecure type.’
Frankie shrugged. She waited for him to answer her question.
Rhys exhaled, blowing the wayward curl on his forehead to the side.
‘You’re a nice girl. You’re pretty. We have a lot of shared interests. You know what you’ve signed up for. Not everybody can handle dating a jockey.’
‘That’s the thing though. We do have a lot of shared interests. Riding Peace Offering in the National being one of them.’
‘Isn’t a guy allowed to change his mind?’
‘To be completely frank—’
‘Which you are.’
Frankie allowed him a wry smile.
‘—to be frank, it’s one helluva U-turn. You used to hate me. That morning in Jack’s office—I’ve never seen anyone so angry. Yet nothing has changed to make you not hate me.’
‘You sure about that?’
Frankie paused to reconsider. As far as she was aware, she still had the ride on Peace Offering.
‘Yeah,’ she said dubiously.
Rhys sat up to face her.
‘You remember that night when Jasper ran in front of your car?’
‘How could I forget?’
‘And in the car we were arguing and you lost your temper with me because I was acting like a spoilt brat?’
Frankie half-nodded, half-shook her head, remembering that conversation, but not willing to admit Rhys had acted like a dickhead.
‘You told me to suck it up, buttercup. And you were right. There I was moping around thinking how I’d been so hard done by and blaming you for it all. When really, it wasn’t your fault at all. You hadn’t gone kissing Pippa’s arse trying to get the ride. She’d just given it to you. So when I stopped blaming you for that, I saw that actually you weren’t such a bad person.’ Rhys looked down into his lap with an embarrassed smile. ‘You’re really quite a good person. And when I saw you at the Aspen Valley party—well,’ he chuckled, ‘you looked gorgeous. You looked so happy, so full of life.’
‘I was also rather drunk.’
‘Regardless, there you were mixing with other people, socialising, laughing with everyone. It might not seem like a big deal to you, but see, I’m not like that. I can’t talk to people like others do. I can never think of the right thing to say. So I keep to myself and well, you know what people think about that.’
Frankie’s heart swelled. Not only in relief to put to bed those niggling doubts, but also compassion for Rhys. He was right. People did think he was arrogant. Had it all been a cover-up to hide his shyness? She pulled herself into a sitting position and leaning forward, she kissed his lowered head. He looked up to meet her next kiss and she wrapped her arms around his neck, letting the duvet slip from around her. Rhys held her tight. His skin burned against hers and he kissed her again. As he lowered her back into the pillows, his kisses becoming more demanding, Frankie felt like an Air Supply song.
Chapter 29
‘Merry Christmas, Mum! Merry Christmas Dad!’ Frankie shouldered open her parents’ front door, her arms cradling a small but precarious pile of presents.
Vanessa appeared from the kitchen wearing a Santa hat and a scarf of tinsel around her neck. In one hand she held a mince pie, in the other was a flute of champagne.
‘Merry Christmas, darling!’ she carolled before disappearing back into the kitchen. ‘Doug! Frankie’s here!’
Frankie stamped her feet on the mat to unstick the snow from her soles. The Cooper home was welcomingly warm with the sound of Christmas tunes and the tang of hot mince pies and roasting turkey in the air. She hustled into the kitchen and was accosted by Vanessa with another Santa hat for Frankie.
‘Ow, Mum. Easy on the scalp,’ Frankie winced. ‘You bring new meaning to Brut force.’
‘Hello, Frankie,’ Doug said, joining them from the lounge. He too was wearing a Santa hat.
Frankie stretched out her lips to greet her father over the presents. He gave her an enthusiastic smacker and laughed.
‘Come on through. Put that lot under the tree.’
‘D’you want some bubbly?’ Vanessa asked.
Frankie wavered. She would love to share Christmas with her parents getting sloshed, but racing didn’t stop for anyone. There would still be horses needing their supper on Christmas Day and tomorrow it was off early to Kempton for their Boxing Day meeting where she had two rides on the card.
‘Not just yet, thanks, Mum,’ she called over her shoulder.
She knelt before the small silver tree in the lounge and let her gifts tumble gently onto the carpet to join the rest. She missed
the big trees they’d used to have when it would take her, Seth, Vanessa and Doug an entire evening to decorate. Now just a few of her mother’s own crafts dangled from the wire limbs and the old angel sitting at the top had a crooked halo and torn wings.
With a quick peek over her shoulder to make sure her parents were still out of sight, she checked the tags on the other gifts to see which ones were hers. A small present, the size of a ring box, wrapped in gold foil caught her attention hiding behind the tree. Her fingers stilled over the attached tag. She sighed as she read the single-word inscription in her father’s writing: “Seth”.
She heaved herself to her feet, wondering what Doug did with all the unopened presents that he gave her brother. And more curiously, what was in them? She moved to the mantelpiece to look at the rows of Christmas cards. One of them was from Gracie, the girl Seth had been dating when he’d died. Frankie shook her head. It was sweet of her to remember the Coopers even after five years, but did her season’s greetings mean that she hadn’t moved on either? She moved the card to the side so she could see a photo of her brother.
‘Merry Christmas, Seth,’ she murmured.
*
If Christmas was a time for indulgence then Frankie hoped hers would be with winners. It certainly couldn’t be food. Watching her mother throw back the champagne and mince pies made Frankie even more envious and determined to ride well tomorrow. With Doug subtly monitoring the cooking over Vanessa’s shoulder, Frankie was more gutted than usual when she could only take a couple of slices from the huge bird. It was roasted to perfection. She went to take a scoopful of Brussels sprouts then remembered she might be spending the night at Rhys’s later so tipped most of them back.
Her parents looked sympathetically at her sparse helping, but neither said anything. They had been there before, no doubt, when Doug was a jockey.
‘This looks lovely,’ Frankie said brightly. ‘Thanks, Mum.’ She gave Doug a discreet nod of thanks too and he winked in acknowledgement.
‘Let’s tuck in then,’ he said. ‘There’re presents to be opened!’
*
Lunch was followed by a quick refill of glasses (Frankie had caved midway through the meal) before they regathered in the lounge. Vanessa weaved over to the tree, lost her balance and sat down with a bump.
Giving Chase (A Racing Romance) (Aspen Valley Series #2) Page 19